


Soldiers, Alchemists, Emperors and Avarice- Everett

by Error the Psychic (AskError), Skyla8221



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Adult Language, Age of Consent Is 16, Alphonse Elric Is Baby, And Now For Something Completely Different, As teenagers begin to grow up and find their place in the world, But we do our best to balance these things, Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, Edward Elric Is A Little Shit, F/M, Fear of Drowning, Found Family, Gen, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, It gets dark sometimes, Its the 1910s lightning circle magic can only get you so far, I’m not gonna lie this is a long one, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Multi, No Beta We Die Like OG Greed, Oh to be trans and gay in the military, Or lack therof, Past Child Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Platonic Soulmates, Self-Hatred, Some Descriptions of Violence, Substance Abuse, Tags Are Fun, Takes a bit for Miles to show up, Touch-Starved, Trans Character, Trans man written by a closeted trans man, Typical Greedling bickering, Where fifteen year olds can become majors in the military, Will add more tags as story continues, Will add trigger warnings, Yeah some of these tags are heavy, especially when Ev gets drunk, lots of phobias and -isms, two authors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:00:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29036619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AskError/pseuds/Error%20the%20Psychic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyla8221/pseuds/Skyla8221
Summary: Lying beneath Central is a world of unspoken strife and suffering. It is the same for many who don’t fit in on the surface, trying to feel comfortable in their own skin, stumbling along the road of life. Some are more successful than others.After the loss of his father, Everett Hughes finds himself grieving, hurting, and now completely unsure of his place in the world. With his best friend and fellow alchemist in tow, the two of them plunge headfirst into a journey neither are truly prepared for. Who knows what fate has in store for them.Or- I accidentally became so obsessed with a side character in FMA I convinced my co-author to split the narrative with me. She agreed.Or- A gay teenager hates one (1) Mike Wazowski
Relationships: Greed & Ling Yao, Greed (Ling) & Ling Yao, Greed/Original Character(s), Ling Yao/Original Character(s), Major Miles/Original Character(s), Miles (Fullmetal Alchemist)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	1. In Which a Child is Found

_He stands on the end of the balcony outside his room, staring at the Drachman mountains in the distance. He is closest to the border than any in his family has ever been, and he wonders if his father was ever stationed here, in this frigid, unfeeling place._

_Cold hands clench on the metal railing at this same thought, and they shake, ungloved. They are laying in a crumbled heap on the cot inside, along with his spare uniform. He lacks the energy to fetch them. He lacks the energy to do anything, besides breathe and watch as the small clouds he’s made drift into the freezing air. There is movement on the large metal wall below him, overlooking the vast sheet of snow on the mountain, and absently, he wonders if he is still being watched by his ‘guard’. Major Miles had not insisted on checking up on him after supper in the mess hall- but then again, perhaps Miles knew he wasn’t stupid enough to go sneaking off in an unfamiliar Fort._

_No, he had asked to be here, and he was more than aware that the soldiers here, from command downwards, did not trust him._

_… This does not matter. He has gotten far away from Central, and right now, that is all he needs. He tries to ignore the warm tears now trailing down his face, the sting as they freeze on his cheeks._

_He fails._  
\-----------

_Nine years ago…_  
\-----------

“Gracia, darling, you should have seen it! I- yes, I know. I know- awwe, thank you, darling.” A young man stands in a phone booth in Central, laughing and smiling and talking to the love of his life. His green eyes are alight behind his spectacles, and he keeps alternating between brushing a strand of dark hair from his face, and then running a hand through the rest of it (which he fails to realize is why that same strand keeps falling in the first place). “Oh, I can’t wait to see you again.”

Today had been a decent day for Captain Maes Hughes so far. A long case in Investigations had finally been cracked, and his superiors had been more than happy to declare that everyone in his division was to receive the afternoon off. He had elected to spend that first half hour of freedom hunting down a pay phone to call up Gracia and tell her about this stroke of fortune, leaving out some… sensitive details. Cases of this nature weren’t something to be disclosed outside of the military, and Maes didn’t want to upset her. “I don’t really know what I’m going to do today. Probably just relax. Though, I wouldn’t mind calling you later after lunch-“

Something bumped against his back, and he heard a small ‘Oh!’ of surprise. He was quick to turn around, and had already gotten out a short “What-?” before looking down.

The first thing he registered, before anything else, were the eyes of the child. They were large, blue on first glance, perhaps green on the second, and on the third he was having trouble placing them at all. They- his? Hers? Maes wasn’t really sure- widened considerably in what was nothing less than fear, but did not look away. When there was finally a blink, the child reached up and rubbed at their face, disturbing a fresh cut on the forehead. It ran through the right eyebrow, and while it wasn’t the worst thing Maes had ever seen, he knew immediately that it would scar.

“... Gracia, I think I’m going to call you back.”

When he hangs up the phone, the child ducks their head, and a mat of brown hair falls over those startling eyes. Maes finds himself crouching down, and his tone is gentler than it’s been in a long while, so careful. “Hi there, kiddo. I’m Maes.”

“H- hi, Maes…” This comes out as a whisper. Out of shyness or trepidation, Maes does not know. From the way the child won’t meet his eyes anymore, likely both.

“Can I know your name?”

A nod. The child brushes their hair away from their face, and they blink far too slowly again, rather pensieve. It is far too much of a striking look. “M-my… my name is... Ev. Everett.” Everett nods again, a bit more sure now… what child doesn’t know his own name? Why had he been injured? Is he having memory problems? Had he received head trauma along with that cut? Why-

Maes shoves this line of thinking away, not wanting to let Everett see him begin to freak out. The boy, who could be about... ten, maybe, had a head injury and was clearly under duress. It wouldn’t do to start panicking. He levels his tone once more, but allows some concern to slip through. “Are you lost, Everett? Do you need help finding your parents?”

The little boy shakes his head vigorously, eyes wide once again. Little fingers grip his shirt sleeves tight, arms crossing over his chest.

“Why not?” He asks carefully.

“They don’t want me.” Everett says this such conviction that it makes Maes’ heart break a little.

Maes stands, and the boy’s head tilts with this change of height, trailing after him. “... You look hungry,” he notes. He knows he’s not going to get any answers easily from this young, frightened kid, and he’s not about to just let Everett wander off on his own. “When was the last time you ate, Everett?”

He thinks about this for a moment, grip loosening a little on his sleeves before worrying them again. “I, uh- I don’t know,” the child admits. When Everett’s lip trembles, Maes couldn’t help but reach out to him- he doesn’t miss how Everett flinches away from his hand. This sparks a few things for the young Captain- concern for this child he’s just met, anger at whoever has conditioned him to react this way. He doesn’t know much about parenting, being barely an adult himself, but he knows something about this is just so _wrong_.

“I was about to get some lunch,” he offers, carefully. Everett’s gaze flickers up to his own. Maes fights down the urge to break it, to take off his glasses and clean them. He can sense the boy’s discomfort rolling off in waves, and he smiles reassuringly. “It’d be a little lonely all by myself. Would you like to come with me?”

Discomfort is easily replaced by confusion now, and Everett blinks a few times, processing this. “You- you want me to come with you? To go eat? I- that’s okay?”

“Of course that’s okay,” Maes assures him. “I’d like you to come.”

A tiny smile appears on the boy’s face- sweet, and soft. Maes offers his hand once more, and he can’t hold back a smile of his own when Everett takes it, a far different sensation than any other hand he’s held before, so much smaller.

He leads the boy out of the phone booth, and they walk to Maes’ favorite bistro, hand in hand.  
\-----------

Maes Hughes learns a lot about Everett that afternoon. The boy was indeed ten, with his birthday “a few weeks ago”. He likes animals, as most children do, and his favorite colour is purple. When Maes orders lunch for the two of them, Everett hovers close to him, especially as people line up behind them. And when they eat, he learns that either Everett is the least pickiest eater he’s ever met, or he really has been going hungry. Privately, the man hopes it’s the former, but the way the boy’s shirt hangs over him says otherwise. Everett eats cautiously, and keeps glancing up at Maes, like a silent, hesitant request for permission.

There is a large smudge of dirt on his cheek. Maes desperately wishes he could wipe it away with his thumb.

Rose, he says, is his best friend, a girl a little bit older than him. She hails from the town of Leore, and so did he, until he ‘left’. That was how he had found his way to Central, to Maes- he found a spot on the baggage car in a train. “She’s like you,” Everett declared. “She’s really nice.”

“Awwe, you think I’m nice?” Maes teased gently, ordering another glass of water for the boy. It was a little warm out today, and he had noticed how fast the boy had drained the first (rather lage) glass. Everett nodded, looking thoughtful again- God, what sort of ten year old wasn’t? Children were supposed to be naturally curious, right? Always seeking out answers? But Everett hadn’t asked Maes that many questions, and yet again, Maes wondered if it was because he was afraid to. “Well, thank you. Are you still hungry?”

“... Can I have dessert?”

A warm laugh, and Maes waves over at a server. “Waiter! A slice of cake for my young friend here.”

Everett’s sweet smile appears once more, and this time, it does not fade.  
\-----------

“Gracia, it’s me, it’s Maes.”

It does not take her long to answer. “Maes, it’s late- I was worried about you. Is everything alright? You don’t usually miss a call.”

“Everything’s alright, don’t worry. I just got a little… sidetracked today. It’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.” He’s sitting in the living room, comfortable in an armchair and phone in hand. She isn’t wrong- it’s late, far later than he usually would call.

Maes finds himself telling her everything, how the boy bumped into him, Maes coaxing him into getting something to eat. They had ended up staying a long while, just talking, and eventually had found themselves back at Maes’ apartment. By then it had been too late to really make a plan- the boy was tired, dirty, and had a full stomach in what seemed to be weeks, at the very least. The Captain had drawn a bath for him and helped him get to bed, and he was still asleep, in one of the guest bedrooms.

“- and he just seemed so _small_ , Gracia,” Maes recalled. “I tucked Everett in and went to leave, but when I was starting to close the door, he started to get scared again. He asked me to keep it open and leave the hall light on, didn’t even want it to be cracked… what did they _do_ to this kid?”

Of course, she was sympathetic, she asked the right questions. It was one of the reasons the young Captain had fallen in love with her to begin with. “What do you think you want to do, Maes?” It is an open question, truly, and he knows she waits patiently for his answer. This takes him a moment. Outside, the busy streets of Central murmur while he weighs the options.

“… It doesn’t feel right, just handing him off to someone,” He admits eventually. “I know it doesn’t make much sense, but, I don’t... I know we’re not far enough in our relationship where you can just- pick up your life and raise a kid with me, I won’t ask you to do that. But- God, I like this kid, Gracia. He needs me.”

He can hear the smile in her voice when she replies. Maes can just picture her on the other side of the phone, leaning against the faded floral wallpaper in her room. “Then you know what you have to do, don’t you?” It’s late, and he knows she’s tired, but she understands and that’s all he needs.

“I think I do.”

“You know… I have some time off next week from work,” Gracia begins. “If you need someone to look after him for a while.”

A tired chuckle. He rubs at his eyes. “Tactful… I’ll need some help finding a school for him. Hopefully close enough to the office.”

“I’d be more than happy to help, darling. Just tell me what you need.”

“... Thank you, Gracia.” He feels a rush of relief- he doesn’t want to do this by himself. He isn’t sure he really can, but Maes knows he has to try.

A soft, tired sigh, but that same smile. “Of course.”


	2. In Which a Soldier Breaks

There are a few things that Roy Mustang knows will never truly leave a uniform. The first, unsurprisingly, is blood- when it dries, it’s almost impossible to get out of the dark blue fabric. He knows this. He has spent hours these past few months trying to scrub these stains out. When new troops arrive, the first thing that gives them away, besides the light in their eyes, is the fresh uniforms. The boots are too shiny, all of the buttons are on straight, and most damningly, there is no sign of blood.

These uniforms, these recruits, do not stay fresh for long.

One of the others is sand. He wishes he did not know this. The Major can handle blood in and on his uniform over sand any day. Even when you’re sure the sand is gone, there is always more that finds its way in, hot and small and grainy. It irritates the skin, and it does not go away, not in a place like this.

Worst of all is when the sand and blood mix... worst of all is the memories that accompany it.

“Hey- Roy! Roy Mustang! The famous Flame Alchemist!”

The Major halts in his ministrations, dropping the uniform jacket he’d been trying to wash back into the soapy bucket. Let it soak for a moment. He turns to look at who is speaking, and-

_ It was the telltale click of a gun, and a startled scream that alerted everyone. “Get  _ **_away_ ** _ from me!” Joergen Knudsen’s hands shook as he stood, and his tray of food clattered to the ground, forgotten along with his jacket. His eyes were wide, and Roy had looked up from his own meal to follow the terrified Sergeant’s gaze. _

_ Solf J. Kimblee, the Crimson Lotus Alchemist. He had emerged from his tent, and had headed straight for the man. When Joergen pulled the gun out, Kimblee looked nothing short of amused. He leaned forwards, and despite being the one with the weapon, Joergen practically jumped back. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do, Knudsen? Aiming at a senior officer with the intent to shoot is  _ quite  _ the serious offence.”  _

_ Kimblee wasn’t even feigning shock- his voice was disturbingly calm. A little smirk was touching his lips. _

Ah. Of course. “Hughes,” he greets flatly. Why is he even surprised? Roy has met far too many of his former classmates here, why shouldn’t there be yet one more? He eyes his friend for a moment, appraising him- Maes Hughes’ uniform is worn, and there is that far-too familiar dimming in the eyes. He looks back down at the jacket in the bucket, the one that isn’t even his. He begins to scrub it furiously. “When were you transferred here?”

“Around a week ago.” Hughes sounds exactly the same. It’s been years, and he sounds exactly the same. He looks down at the clothing in Roy’s hands. “Is that-”

“Knudsen’s. Yes.”

“... Ah.” 

By now, everyone at camp had either heard about or been unfortunate enough to witness the Sergeant’s breakdown. No one was really sure what had brought it on, but the Sergeant had certainly been more withdrawn these past few weeks, flinching at unexpected loud noises, or people getting too close, touches to the shoulder or neck. It all came at a head earlier that morning...

_ Roy stared at the two of them. They all were. Few of them liked the Crimson Alchemist, sure, but to be frightened at the mere  _ sight _ of him... the Flame Alchemist searches around for someone as Knudsen starts to breathe harshly, and he locks eyes with her- a young woman with short blonde hair, tired eyes. Riza Hawkeye, the daughter of Roy’s former mentor. She works with Knudsen often in this hot, arid warzone. They are both sharpshooters. _

_ “Sergeant,” she says carefully, giving him enough time to look at her. “Sergeant, give me the gun.” _

_ Knudsen takes in a rattling breath, his eyes darting between her and the Alchemist. Kimblee does not help, taking a step forward, daring him to shoot. The Sergeant snarls. _

_ “Knudsen,  _ hand me the gun,”  _ Riza echoes, firmer now. She walks to his side, her hand out. He is trembling, his eyes trained on the Alchemist- but, his grip loosens on the weapon. After a long few heartbeats, Knudsen lowers his hands. His head is bowed, long strands of dirty blonde hair disturbed by the shaking of his shoulders. Gently, he gives her the weapon, and Riza turns the safety back on. _

_ Roy lets out a breath he hadn’t remembered holding. He is not the only one. _

“How are you, Hughes?” Roy asks him suddenly, tearing his gaze away from the water. It has long turned a muddy, muted red, and the jacket drips with this same hue. 

He knows this is a mistake the moment Maes’ eyes brighten, but he really can’t bring himself to care. Hughes opens his mouth, but the Alchemist really doesn’t expect what comes next- “I have a son!” 

“Already?!?” It comes out more incredulous than he intends. Maes immediately backtracks, sheepish.

“Well- technically, I’ll  _ have _ a son. I plan to adopt Everett after the war is over.” He pulls out a few photos from his breast pocket, waving them in front of Roy’s face. Roy is able to catch a glimpse of a young boy asleep at a desk, cheek pressed against what seems to be math homework and soft brown hair curling over his face. “My girlfriend, Gracia, she’s looking after him for me. He’s almost eleven now!” The joy in his eyes has spread to his voice, and Hughes smiles giddily. “I’m sure you’d like him, he’s a smart kid. Cute, too.”

The Flame Alchemist found himself frowning, catching his gaze. “I know you wanted to get married and start a family, but why so soon?” He wrings out Knudsen’s jacket- “Hold this out for me-” and shoves it into Maes’ hands. The Captain does so, and Roy snaps his fingers, a small flame crackling to life.

“Why not? I’m ready to be a parent, and he needs a dad. I’m not doing it alone, I have Gracia.” A dreamy smile, before he holds the jacket up a little bit higher, allowing his friend to dry it. “I’m gonna ask her to marry me as soon as I get home. I can’t wait to start my life with them, Roy.”

“Congratulations,” he says dryly. He means it, though. If anyone has worked hard enough to earn that life, it would be Maes. A little smile. “I imagine there’s quite a lot we have to catch up on.” The flame sighs in the palm of his hand. “But- let’s finish this first. I’d like to be able to give this back to him before he wakes.”

Maes’ smile thins, and the lightness Roy felt, brief, is gone now. “What do you think will happen to him?”

The jacket is a little too close to his hand, and Roy draws away. “If he’s lucky, he’ll be transferred. They’re not going to take this lightly- they like Kimblee, God knows why.”

“Briggs is nice this time of year,” Hughes muses. The sun glints off of his glasses, an eyebrow arched, and Roy finds himself frowning thoughtfully.

Maybe… maybe. He’ll see if his superiors think the frozen wall is a suitable ‘punishment’.

_ “Come now,” Roy finds himself saying, standing and resting a hand on the man’s shoulder. He flinches away, now in a blind panic. Someone is calling for Kimblee. Riza shakes her head at him, she will handle this. _

_ “Let’s get you to the medic tent,” she directs calmly. Now that there is no danger, she speaks to him gently, like a child. His head snaps over to her, movements jerky. There is a broken sort of despair settled in him, and Roy can see how defeated he looks, how tired. “Come on. You can go back to sleep.” _

_ Knudsen makes no movement, just staring at her. She walks a little bit closer, free hand clear in his line of sight, before gently tugging on his sleeve. Too many emotions flash on the young Sergeant’s face, and he seems to fall apart, his shoulders slumping before he leans against her. Wrapping an arm around him, she leads Knudsen away. People go back to their breakfast, conversations sputter back to life. God knows where Kimblee is. _

_ He has left the jacket of his uniform on the ground, uneaten oatmeal smeared all over it.  _

_ Gingerly, Roy bends down to pick it up, and shakes some of the sand away.  _


End file.
